Patsy Cline, Hoodoo Eyes and Other Acts of Bravery
by LucyVanPolevault
Summary: What happens when the survivors discover a karaoke machine at the CDC? What happens when our heroine gets drunk and sings, triggering an argument with Daryl that leads to all kinds of smutty goodness? What happens when the brooding redneck mans up and follows through on a promise his eyes made six years before?
1. Chapter 1

A/N – This is my first foray into fanfic, actually my first real attempt at fiction period. So if you plan to review, feedback would be appreciated, but please be gentle. I started this as a smutty one shot, but started to have some fun with it and I'm finding that I can be a bit rambly… So I kept going and now I have eight chapters which I plan to post once per day. I'm also thinking this could be the start of a multi chapter Daryl/OC pairing, but that depends on whether anyone digs what I have so far.

And be warned. When I say smutty, I mean if you're under the age of 18, your God, parents and any authority figure you're scared of will instantly be able to read every single filthy word you've read on your face kind of smutty. But if you're over the age of 18 and that's what you're into, welcome – but be advised that you'll have to wait a little bit for it. While my OC is a brazen hussy, both she and Daryl are a bit shy. And it's more fun that way, isn't it?

Disclaimer – I own nothing but Stella, my potty mouth and my filthy imagination. All credit for Daryl and the brilliant series goes to AMC and Robert Kirkman. Anyway, I'm certainly not making any money off this, so nothing here for any legal ferrets to worry about.

**Patsy Cline, Hoodoo Eyes and Other Acts of Bravery**

**Chapter One**

It took me quite a while to figure out why he seemed so familiar. Why wouldn't it? The man never talked! He snarled, sure. Tossed out sarcastic bon mots when he didn't think anyone was listening, certainly. Grunted, frequently. But talk? Hardly ever. Anyway, it wasn't his voice that finally triggered my recollection of him. It was those eyes of his. Blue, penetrating, cold and blazing at the same time. But again, how on earth could I be expected to remember him if he never even looked at me? He'd never been around that much, usually off hunting, sometimes for several days at a time. And when he was around, he kept to himself, hanging out with his obnoxious brother who, after grabbing his crotch and suggesting I sit and spin, gave me all the incentive I needed to steer clear of both brothers. Anyway, I'd always had the distinct impression that he was pissed off at me for some reason or another. Something about the way his shoulders would tense up and he'd turn his back to me whenever I was around… Maybe he hated me because I'd told his brother where to go fuck himself? But all the women, at one point or another, had told that asshole to put his dick somewhere painful, so who knows? I didn't bother analyzing it. It was easier all around to just ignore both him and his surly attitude.

But it was weird… The few times I did see him around camp, usually at meals when we were forced to exchange a few words – with him refusing to look at me, of course – some little part of my brain would nudge me with a, 'hey girl, does he remind you of someone?' But I just thought that he resembled someone I'd had some kind of passing interaction with. Or my brain was confusing familiar with handsome, because come on… the man was rather hot, under all the dirt, sweat and rudeness. In a testosterony kind of way, of course, what with the broad shoulders and muscular arms…

There was that one time I went to fill water buckets at the quarry and stumbled upon him while he was taking one of his all too infrequent baths… I saw the man buck naked – well, just above the hips naked – and I hadn't been able to take my eyes off him…. Muscles for days and days, hard and defined… Water glistening on his skin in a way that made me really thirsty… The trail of hair down his stomach that disappeared into the water… Well, let's just say the sight had inspired quite a few dreams that left me all tingly and moist when I woke up. But he'd never, ever looked at me! Barely ever talked to me! So that was all he was – just some vaguely familiar, hot, socially inept redneck I shared space with. Until I finally got a good look at his eyes, that is. Across that big table at the CDC, about two weeks after Glenn found me in Atlanta and brought me back to his group. And it finally dawned on me as to where I'd seen him before. The Spotted Cat. New Orleans. Spring Break six years ago.

I hadn't planned on spending my break there, but Margie and I had decided to bail on our original plans to camp on Marathon Key with a bunch of our friends, figuring that all the signs pointed to turning our New Orleans pit stop into a week-long bender. Margie was my degenerate comrade slash roommate, the kind of friend who had this inexplicable talent for inspiring me to push past my fears and do stuff I ended up being glad about… Anyway, when Jeffrey, Margie's big brother, invited us to stay with him and his band, how could we refuse? They'd booked a five-night gig at The Spotted Cat, a tiny but popular club in the Marigny district, and a place to stay was bundled into the deal. Sure, it involved a disgusting foldout couch and having to fend off the persistent advances of Miles, the band's pervy bass player, but it was free and certainly better than washing sand out of my crotch for the rest of the semester. Anyway, it was New Orleans, for fuck's sake! All the stars had aligned and we would have been stupid not to take him up on his offer.

Now it was six years later, and I look back on that week in New Orleans as one of the best in my life. Seven days when I was the greatest possible version of myself. Daring, brave, self-assured… Ever since, I've used that week, memories of the person I'd been while I was there and the lessons I learned as touchstones. Whenever I need courage or confidence, they remind me that I'm capable of handling whatever comes my way. And six years later, trying like hell to survive in a world where a gruesome death is always a very real possibility, they've helped me stay alive. It's kind of silly, really, when I think how far I've come. But also deadly serious when I think of the person I'd been before that fateful trip and how she would have handled herself during a zombie apocalypse. Because I conquered something that, for me back then, was huge. My biggest fear. Ever. Of being noticed.

Before that week, I never spoke in class. Never drew attention to myself. Always hid in the corner, hoping no one would notice me. I'd only speak to someone I didn't know if it was absolutely necessary. Only family members and good friends had ever heard me speak more than ten words at once. Sure, I could let down my hair on occasion, but only when I could control the circumstances and was certain that I was safe around people who already knew and cared about me. Now Margie, despite scaring the hell out of me that first day of our freshman year, what with her bright pink hair, nonstop talking and frequent hugs, had helped me come out of my shell a little bit. With her unique mixture of patience and nagging, I learned how to resist the impulse to hide in the bathroom when she dragged me to bars and parties, and even managed to have fun on occasion, as long as I didn't have to talk to anybody I didn't know. But I was still extremely shy.

So before that week in New Orleans, I certainly would have never, in a million years, even under threat of a painful death, have ever…. Never, ever…. Had the guts to sing in public. I loved music, sure. All types, really. And after Margie, I even started to go to see live bands. But most of all, I really, really loved to sing. Especially in the shower, probably because being naked helped to bolster the feeling of freedom singing gave me, of being utterly at home in my own skin. And that was rare, given how often tension seemed to overwhelm me, what with all the other people I had to share space with on the planet. Of course, I only sang when I was absolutely sure I was by myself. I was always really careful to make sure no one heard me. Until that one afternoon, during a weekend trip that Margie and I took to her home in Washington, D.C.

I had been hanging out with Margie and Jeffrey, who I'd become pretty good friends with by then, playing a game that was half croquet, half Frisbee Golf and made more interesting with enormous quantities of alcohol. I'd managed to get stupid drunk and went in to get ready for our night out without checking to make sure my drinking buddies were still outside. While in the shower, I belted out a particularly loud, impassioned rendition of my favorite song, 'Crazy' by Patsy Cline. Yup, it appears that five beers and a shot of tequila were all it took to prevent me from taking the normal precautions, and I sang where people could hear me. But that didn't mean I wanted an audience. And the last thing I expected was to come out of the bathroom and find my roommate and her brother sitting there, on the bed, gawking at me.

Margie had whispered, "Oh… My…. God…."

Jeffrey had yelled, "What the fuck, girl?"

I just stood there in the doorway, legs buckling, and grabbed the doorjamb with one hand to keep from falling down and my towel with the other to make sure I didn't add nudity to the mix of overwhelming embarrassment that made me want to turn back around and lock myself in the bathroom. Because no one, other than my parents, had ever heard me sing before. And that was when I was eight… Remember? I didn't like to draw attention to myself. Crippling shy person, that was me. But they wouldn't let it go, bringing it up over and over during our bar crawl that night and several more times the next morning.

Margie wouldn't stop with the "Where in the hell did you learn to sing like that?", "Do you have any fucking idea how amazing you sound?", "I'm dragging your ass to a karaoke bar the first chance I get." and "You need to stop hiding, girl! You've got a gift!"

Jeffrey, in his own way just as dramatic, kept saying stuff like, "You need to get on a stage, honey.", "Let me record you and send it to this scout I met last year." and "You can't let your fears hold you back from singing, hon, because with a voice like that, it's what you were meant to do."

Of course, I'd kept blowing them off, shutting them down and telling them to shut the fuck up until they finally let it go. Actually, it was probably the crying, combined with the begging and pleading to respect my need for privacy that made them finally stop. But all the gushing and compliments must have laid some groundwork, somehow fertilized my unconscious and given me a little boost of confidence, so that when Jeffrey called me to the stage that first night at The Spotted Cat, asking… no… demanding that I get up there and sing 'Crazy," I didn't run away and lock myself in the bathroom. Those four mint juleps probably helped, of course, but really, I honestly don't know how I made it to the stage. I couldn't tell you how I managed to keep the microphone from slipping out of my sweaty hands. Fuck if I know why my legs didn't give out on me during the opening bars of the song, delivered in the band's signature gritty, bluesy style. And it's one of life's little mysteries that my voice kept working after the first word of the song cracked as it emerged from my throat.

Frankly, my entire time on that stage was a blur. But I do remember how I managed to stay up there and sing the entire song, though. An extraordinary pair of blue eyes, staring at me from the far end of the bar. They were barely visible through the dim lighting, so I couldn't tell you how I knew they were blue… But I held on to them, focusing on those eyes and nothing else as a way to block out the chaos, the people and all of those other eyes. On me. While I sang. In public. For the first time in my entire life.

That was the start of something for me. Something important. For the next four nights, Jeffrey managed to convince me to get up there and sing that song. And each night, I found that I had a little more courage. And by the end of that fifth night, by the time I sang the last six words, "and I'm crazy for loving you," I found out something very important about myself. A deeply buried part of my character that I hadn't even known was there. I found out that I was capable of conquering my biggest fear and walking away from it with my head held high, applause ringing in my ears.

Now I didn't drop out of college and move to New York to get 'discovered.' And I didn't join Jeffrey's band, despite their pleading and a borderline intimidating call from their agent. But I did go to the occasional karaoke bar after that, and I always sang that one song. And I did get up on stage a few more times to sing with Jeffrey's band when they were in town, but I only sang that one song. And those were big things for me. Huge, in fact. But not the most important. What changed me for good, for the better, was that I became braver in a million other, more profound ways.

I learned that being noticed by strangers wouldn't kill me. Revealing something about myself didn't diminish me. Any attention given to my words, actions or even demands was part of the natural order of thing, a right I'd earned simply by being a human being. But most importantly, I learned that I was capable of conquering my greatest fear. That, if I could get up in front of a crowd of strangers for five nights in a row, I could take on a shuffling pile of rotting flesh. Hell, I could take on several of them at once. I know, because I've done it. The person I was before I took that stage certainly wouldn't have had the guts to kill five walkers in the space of five minutes, but the person I became afterwards didn't hesitate to do so.

So who knows, maybe those five nights on that stage at The Spotted Cat helped me to stay alive after the world went to shit. But if that's true, and deep down I think it is, it's safe to say that those blue eyes, which were there every single night when I took that stage, helped me summon the courage to remain there and conquer what had been my greatest fear. And I'd just now figured out that those eyes belonged to none other than Daryl fucking Dixon, my new group's socially stunted loner and surly badass.

As soon as I actually saw those eyes again, the first time I actually got a good look at them, I knew. How could I ever forget them? That first night on stage, they'd helped me build a wall that blocked out all my fears and insecurities. Was it because they happened to be directly in my sight line, giving me something visible to focus on? That was part of it, sure. Did the lighting in the bar favor that particular spot so that I could actually see them? Possibly. But the main reason? The real reason? It was the fact that they were extraordinary... They were… well, beautiful. And intense. And kind.

They'd turned up the second night, leaning on a support beam to the right of the bar, never leaving me, not once, during the entire song. The third night, I'd managed to gather the courage to actually move my eyes around the room and found them in a different spot, leaning against the part of the bar directly in front of me, intense and unwavering. By the fourth night, I actually looked for them and panicked until I found them leaning against a wall to the right of the stage, watching me, giving me strength. And that fifth night, I found them instantly, back to leaning against the bar, because I had no doubt in my mind that they'd be there. And that night, knowing it was my last, I ignored everyone else in that bar, not because I was scared, but because I wanted to sing for him and only him.

Over the course of those five nights, I'd gotten a pretty good look at the man who owned those eyes, despite the dim lighting. Tall. Broad shouldered. Scruffy hair and clean shaven. Maybe four or so years older than me with a zen way about him, not easily distracted by the jostling and noise one generally finds in a club. Always dressed casually, jeans and some kind of button down shirt. A cleaned-up redneck, not generally the type of man I found myself attracted to. But I didn't care. Because of those beautiful, intense, kind eyes. On some level, I'd expected him to approach me. I certainly wasn't brave enough to go up and introduce myself at that point, but I really think I would have found the courage to talk to him, if only to get a closer look at those gorgeous eyes of his. It never happened, though.

When I stumbled off the stage that first night, he'd been busy quieting down some loud, obnoxious guy who'd started yelling at me, wondering what else I could do with that pretty mouth of mine. And with my newly found frame of reference, I'm pretty sure that was Merle… That second night, he'd disappeared by the time I put the mike back in the stand. The third night, I saw him pay his tab and leave. The fourth night, he lingered to throw what I'm convinced was the $50 bill we found in the pass-around basket. But that fifth night? I'm almost positive I saw him walking toward me with a determined look on his face. At the same exact moment that Miles, the pervy bass player, decided to pick me up and carry me off the stage. By the time I managed to get him off me, he and those eyes of his were gone. And I never saw them again until tonight, during one of the many glances I kept throwing at the handsome redneck who, without that crossbow slung over his shoulder, looked a lot less intimidating. And once I saw his eyes, once I caught that flicker of intensity and kindness in them, I realized it was him. I realized that I'd been living with the same pair of blue eyes that had burned themselves into my brain and my heart six years ago.

Maybe the booze served as a social lubricant, finally allowing us both to lose enough of our inhibitions to look around and actually see one another. And there was a lot of booze, all kinds. I stuck to wine, but I'm pretty sure I managed to polish off one and a half bottles over the course of the entire evening, what with Dale topping off my glass every time I turned around. How could we not drink after finally finding a haven after so many weeks of constantly watching our backs to make sure some dead fucker wasn't trying to chew our legs off? We also had full bellies and, given the CDC's overflowing pantry, had every reason to believe we'd be able to keep them that way for some time.

And don't forget, we'd just lost Amy, Jim and Ed. The only people who might have missed Ed were his wife and daughter, and maybe they did, but they certainly seemed more relaxed without that raging asshole around. But I felt a twisting knife in my stomach every time I thought of Amy, who'd barely had a chance to experience life before having it brutally snuffed out. And Jim? Jim had been one of the sweetest, most serene men I'd ever met, so the thought of him as a walker or still sitting under that tree just dug that knife in a little deeper. Needless to say, all of our hearts were broken. That grief, combined with Jenner's little seminar on how little we knew about the virus and the dawning realization that the world we'd known was gone for good, left us needing some kind of distraction. Even with the basics of safety, shelter and food taken care of, we weren't quite ready to confront the larger implications just yet.

Hell, I couldn't handle the implications of those eyes belonging to Daryl! The eyes I remembered just didn't match what little I knew about the man – the eyes from six years ago were kind, never left me, had comforted me in some strange, intimate way… And they belonged to the sullen redneck who always acted like he was pissed off at me? It just didn't compute, and that's probably why I knocked over my glass. As soon as Jacquie and I finished cleaning up the mess, Daryl had turned away and he was back to teasing Glenn. Well, I was pretty sure it was him… It was six years ago and so much had changed since then…

But goddammit, I'd stared into those eyes for the two and a half minutes it took to sing that song for five nights in a row. When you're scared out of your mind and locked into a pair of eyes that are the only things that stand between you and a panic attack, that equals twelve and a half minutes of very intense gazing. I knew those eyes almost as well as my own, but I looked again to make sure. I tried to be discreet by making it look like I was scanning the room, and there they were again. Just a quick glance that connected briefly with my own, but now that I knew what I was looking for, I was certain that it had been Daryl and those eyes of his in that club. I was positive.

So, now that I knew that Daryl owned the blue eyes that helped to transform my life in such a significant way, I had to keep sneaking peeks at him. He was different tonight, more relaxed, certainly chattier than he had ever been around camp. He was smiling a lot too, almost boisterous, what with the "booyahs" and trying to get Glenn drunk. And he wasn't dirty! Like, just showered, hair still a bit damp, wearing a clean button down shirt with sleeves. Actually, very similar to how he'd looked at The Spotted Cat. He had a goatee and was a bit scruffier, of course, but weren't we all? A little less zen and more hardened. But again, weren't we all?

I know my appearance had changed more than his, which is probably why he hadn't recognized me. I was thinner, as everyone was these days, and my hair was shorter. Six years ago, it had hung all the way to my waist, a wavy auburn curtain I would hide behind when the people around me got to be too much. But after that fateful week, I'd mustered up the courage to have it trimmed to just below my shoulders. It was longer now, to my shoulder blades, but I generally pulled it up in a messy bun because of the heat and to protect against dead, grasping fingers. It was down tonight, though, and I'd taken the time to apply the mascara and lip gloss I'd found in the bottom of my backpack. It felt so strange paying attention to my looks. Hell, looking at your reflection was a luxury these days. But it's safe to say that the way I looked tonight was about as close as I'm likely to get to the way I'd looked six years ago.

I was still puzzled, though. He'd stared at me for twelve and a half minutes…. So why hadn't he recognized me? Perhaps for the same reason I hadn't recognized him? I mean, we'd barely interacted and he never really got a good look at me. Or… Maybe it wasn't me he'd been staring at… For all I knew, he was gay and had been staring at Miles the whole time. Should I go up to him and talk to him about it? Yeah…. No. I was certainly braver now, but I would never be the kind of person who could just go up and start talking about something like that to a person I hadn't exchanged more than ten words with. And even if I was, Daryl didn't strike me as the type of guy who would be receptive to that type of conversation…

I leaned forward and took another sip of wine, using the opportunity to look at him once more. And there they were again, those crazy crystal blue eyes… I gulped the rest of the glass, trying to cool down the hot flush I could feel creeping up my neck and cheeks. There was something in that look that said he might have recognized me as well... The heat in my face had now spread to the pit of my belly and felt like magma bubbling inside a long dormant volcano. Long dormant. As in, it had been a good two years since any lava had flowed out of this particular volcano and I thought it was extinct. Hell, until I saw Daryl down at the quarry, I thought my sex drive was extinct, another casualty of the times we found ourselves living in. I wasn't sure why the sudden possibility of him recognizing me was making me feel this way…. Maybe the realization that now, since I basically lived with the guy, we now had a chance to do more than just look at one another…


	2. Chapter 2

A/N – I sprinkled a few easter eggs in this chapter. They're not too hard to find but you might need to look up some lyrics to appreciate my weird sense of humor.

Disclaimer – I own nothing but Stella, my potty mouth and my filthy imagination. All credit for Daryl and the brilliant series goes to AMC and Robert Kirkman. Anyway, I'm certainly not making any money off this, so nothing here for any legal ferrets to worry about.

**Chapter Two**

"Hey guys!" I looked up suddenly, glad to have a distraction because I had been about to go get a bucket of ice to drown the fantasy I'd been having about being sandwiched between Daryl and a tree. The one who'd called out was Carl, who had left with Sophia and Carol a bit earlier to check out the rec room Jenner had told us about. He was wheeling some kind of machine about the size of a concert speaker. Huge grins on their faces, Sophia and Carol followed him in. "It's a karaoke machine!"

Carol piped in then, "I checked out the song list! It has Carole King _and_ Neil Diamond!"

Glenn jumped up and ran over. "I'm sooooo in!" He took over from Carl and wheeled the machine over to an outlet by the counter, plugged it in and started scrolling through the list of songs while everyone around the table started goading one another into taking the mike. I, however, started to chew my lip, mulling over three questions. Could I get up there and sing that song? Hell, yes. I was quite tipsy and feeling rather bold. I certainly felt comfortable around everyone, except Daryl that is… But yes. I could get up there and sing. And more than that, I wanted to. Next question. Would getting up there and singing my song make him remember, if he hadn't already? Well, if that didn't jog his memory, nothing would…

Last question. Should I do it? That was a tough one… Was it wise? What if I'd only imagined that Daryl was the owner of those eyes… What if he was, but singing that song did nothing to help him remember me… What if remembering me made him even more pissed off at me… What if I ended up making a fool of myself… Hold up, Stella… We're not doing this. Nope. That was the old me, always looking for an excuse to not call attention to myself, to not take any kind of risk. But I was braver, stronger and had trained myself to not obsess over what people thought of me. Anyway, six years ago, all the stars had aligned and pointed me to New Orleans and that stage. And right now, all the stars were aligned and pointing me to that karaoke machine. No question about it. Now that I knew that those blue eyes belonged to Daryl, I _had_ to jog his memory. And singing that song was the best way to do it.

Glenn yelped loudly, "they have 'Smells Like Teen Spirit!' I call that one!"

Rick, ever the camp counselor, suggested that we each take a turn going through the catalog and write down our names and song selections, then we'd put the slips of paper in a bowl and draw them to determine the order. And so it went, everyone taking their turn at the screen, trying to find just the right song, while the ones waiting took turns telling karaoke stories, talked about their favorite songs to sing and, in the case of Daryl, made fun of people who sing karaoke. I made half-hearted attempts to join the conversation, but the back of my brain was consumed with my upcoming performance, so I was relieved when Rick finally drew the first name. Carol's song was predictable, Neil Diamond's 'Sweet Caroline,' and surprisingly loud, due I'm sure to the rum and coke she guzzled before taking her turn. She drew Lori, who sang Abba's 'Fernando.' Now, given some of my suspicions about Lori's relationship with Shane, I had to question the wisdom of her song choice because the look on her husband's best friend's face was… tense at best. I was relieved when Lori's song finally ended and she drew Jacquie's name, whose song, 'Only Heaven Can Wait for Love' by Roberta Flack, was a hard one to pull off. She sang it beautifully, though, despite seeming a bit detached. I made a mental note to check in with her tomorrow to see if there was anything wrong.

Dale's name was called next and he sang a stunningly good rendition of 'Time' by Pink Floyd, before taking the graceful bow of a man who knows he killed that song, acknowledging everyone's applause with a quietly confident smile. Dale drew Daryl, who just sat there smirking as the older man read his name and a G-rated version of his song title, " 'F' you, I Don't Sing." When Dale raised his eyebrow and demanded that he get up there and perform his selection, I was shocked, then laughed out loud when Daryl actually took the microphone and sang an off-key rendition of "Fuck you, I don't sing. And I never will. So fuuuuuuuck you all….." that sounded like the shortest Ramones song ever. Everyone was in hysterics, even Sophia and Carl, except for Lori, who spat out an exasperated, "Daryl! There are kids here…." Did that woman not realize that her kid had been exposed to the entire encyclopedia of curse words several times over since the world jumped into that handbasket and took a trip to hell? I gave in to the impulse to roll my eyes and didn't even bother trying to hide it.

Next up was Carl, who barely knew the song his mom had picked for him, so he just stood up there, fidgeting, shuffling his feet while he flubbed the words to 'Yesterday' by the Beatles. That was a good song and now Carl had tarnished it forever, through no fault of his own of course. Now T-Dog was up and, judging by the expression on his face as he took the mike, it was going to be amazing. And it was. The Charlie Daniels' Band's "The Devil Went Down to Georgia' never sounded so good. He made that song his own, sucking all of the redneck out of it with his resonant baritone and Prince swagger, leaving all of us laughing harder than we had in… well… a long fucking time. Glenn laughed the hardest, his face bright red, shoulders shaking and tears streaming down his cheeks, but managed to pull himself together because he was up next. His enthusiasm, coupled with a pretty good imitation of a coked-up Curt Cobain singing Nirvana's 'Smells Like Teen Spirit,' left all of us grinning and clapping.

And Rick's selection, well, I'd known the man for less than a week, but I would have made a boatload of money if I'd put a bet down on his song selection – John Cougar Mellancamp's "Little Pink Houses." And the fact that I guessed right… Well, it made me sad. For both the man and the new world we found ourselves trying to survive in. Shane was up next, shitfaced drunk and not even bothering to try to hide the pathetic looks he shot at Lori while he sang 'Separate Ways' by Journey. I wanted to wring the man's neck. What the fuck was he thinking, picking that song? If any of us weren't sure about the nature of Shane and Lori's relationship before Rick returned from the dead, well, we were now. The looks being exchanged around the table and the horrified expression on Lori's face only added fuel to a fire I tried like hell to tamp down by drawing Rick's attention with a fabricated story about the singer's childhood compulsion to hoard stray cats. I was so absorbed with trying to keep Rick's eyes on me and brooding over how the words to my own song might just send Shane over the edge, I didn't hear him call my name at first.

When I finally realized that I was up next, I drained the glass Dale had poured for me not five minutes before, took a deep breath as I walked to the head of the table and tried like hell to pull my shit together. This was it… Everyone was looking at me now, including Daryl, so I was locked into this. Fuck… He's the very reason I want to do this, but he's also the reason I'm not sure I'll be able to breathe, let alone sing… I took another deep breath. I can do this… It's only two and a half minutes. I've already been through more with these people over the last two weeks than anybody else in my past life. Half of them have seen me pee in the woods and the other half have saved my life at least once. I can do this…

I pressed the button to start Patsy Cline's 'Crazy' and as soon as the twinkling chords of the song unfolded, I noticed that Daryl's eyes narrowed, like he was expecting something but he wasn't sure he was going to like it... Was he _trying_ to mess with my head? I had no choice but to close my eyes so I wouldn't freeze. I can do this…

"Crazy.

I'm crazy for feeling so lonely

I'm crazy

Crazy for so feeling so blue

I knew you'd love me as long as you wanted

And then some day

You'd leave me for somebody new."

Even with my eyes closed, I could feel him looking at me. I finally opened them halfway through the first verse and looked around the room. But really, the only thing I could see were Daryl's eyes, now free of any animosity. In fact, they were exactly like the ones that had stared at me six years ago – beautiful, intense and kind. And just like back then, they didn't look like they'd blinked, let alone moved from me since the song had started. When he saw my eyes move to his and lock into them, something flickered in there. Something to indicate that he knew he'd been caught watching me. And he didn't care. He wanted me to know.

"Worry

Why do I let myself worry?

Wondering

What in the world did I do?"

By the end of the second verse, I felt bold. No longer afraid to hold his gaze. In fact, I was daring him to go back to New Orleans with me. And by the expression on his face, he had the time machine gassed up and ready to go.

"Oh, crazy

For thinking that my love could hold you

I'm crazy for trying

And crazy for crying

And I'm crazy for loving you."

By the third verse, I wasn't registering any other person in that room. Nor was Daryl. Our eyes were having a conversation about missed opportunities, taking risks and second chances.

"Crazy for thinking that my love could hold you

I'm crazy for trying

And crazy for crying

And I'm crazy for loving

You."

By the time I sang the final verse, I didn't care about New Orleans anymore, didn't give a damn about why he'd stared at me, why he'd never approached me, or why he'd always acted like he was pissed off at me... I just wanted him.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note – The next two chapters are in Daryl's voice; how he sees Stella and all the brooding insecurities that run through his head. While I had a lot of fun writing him, mainly because I found myself laughing out loud many, many times while I poked into the dark little corners of his mind, I also wonder if I've done his character a bit of a disservice. While I tried to stay true to the Daryl we all know and love from the series, I'm afraid he comes off as a bit too young and naive for the thirty-year old Daryl in my story. I'd really be interested to know what you all think, so please review.

Disclaimer – I own nothing but Stella, my potty mouth and my filthy imagination. All credit for Daryl and the brilliant series goes to AMC and Robert Kirkman. Anyway, I'm certainly not making any money off this, so nothing here for any legal ferrets to worry about.

**Chapter Three**

Half of me was hoping she'd pick that song and half of me was hoping she wouldn't. The part that did wanted to hear her voice, which was fucking amazing, and maybe… hoping it would help her remember me. But the other half was hoping like hell she wouldn't, that she'd continue ignoring me… and never realize that I was that creepy stalker from six years ago. I'd remembered her instantly, of course. As soon as Glenn brought her back to camp and I saw her, I thought of that song… Could practically hear it ringing in my ears. But fuck if I was gonna let her know that. Why the hell would I remind her that I was the fucker who liked to stare at her while she sang? And anyway, it was a long time ago. Sure, I'd been obsessed with her back then, going back night after night just to hear her sing and feel her looking at me... But I'd been too much of a chickenshit to do anything about it and the window closed. Moved on…

But as soon as she started singing, I was right back there in that bar six years ago. And she was having the same effect on me. Same exact fucking effect. Fuuuuck me... I couldn't take my eyes off her. And now she was looking at me, just like she had back then. And there was no doubt in my mind that she knew who I was now. She'd finally figured it out… Yes, Stella. The Spotted Cat, New Orleans, six years ago. And now at the CDC. You singing that song and me staring at you like a fucking creep. Because I wouldn't be able to take my eyes off you, not even if this place blew to kingdom come...

By the time the song was over, I was starting to think that maybe... knowing who I was didn't scare the shit out of her. And my blood was humming because… well, it kind of looked like whatever the hell was in those gorgeous green eyes of hers was the opposite of scared? Why would she have kept looking at me if I freaked her out? So maybe I didn't have to worry about her losing her shit from finding out that the guy sitting across the table from her was the same guy who'd stared at her while she sang for five nights running.

What the hell should I do now? I knew what I wanted to do, of course. I wanted to kiss her. I wanted her naked and under me. I wanted her looking at me with those green eyes of hers while I fucked her brains out. I wanted her to sing that song to me again, alone. While she sat on my dick… Shut the fuck up, Dixon… I'd been around Merle for so long, his voice had managed to wiggle its way inside my head and build a nest. At least I'd never say shit like that out loud... Fuck if I wouldn't give anything to hear him say shit like that again, though... But I couldn't think about Merle right now, not while people were around. Because every time I started thinking about him, I got this picture of him in my head – running through the streets of Atlanta being chased by a herd of walkers. Wondering why the hell I wasn't there to have his back.

I can't think about that shit right now… But I didn't want to think about Stella, either, because I was confused as fuck about the whole thing. I just couldn't figure out why she'd been looking at me like she had if it wasn't because she was scared of me. When she'd looked at me, even at the end when it felt like she was staring at me, I didn't pick up on any fear. None. Recognition, sure… Finally… And some other stuff I couldn't make sense of… But no fear. And I was sure. I'd only been six feet away from her and was analyzing every single fucking thought, mood and feeling on her face. Sure, she was scared when she first got up there, just like six years ago, but it wasn't of me and she seemed to get over it pretty quick. So maybe the look she was giving me tonight was the same look she'd been giving me back in that club, each night, every night? I'd always thought she'd been memorizing my face for a police line-up because she thought I was gonna try to mess with her. Not that I would have. Hell, I'd been too much of a pussy to even try to talk to her. But I sure looked at her… Hell, I couldn't look away. Not six years ago and not tonight…

But if she wasn't scared of me, why? She's so far out of my league, it's not like she was interested in me or anything like that. I'd seen about six other guys who'd been eye-fucking her in that club, guys who looked like they had more money and manners than me, more her type… If she was looking for something like that, she'd have been staring at one of them. So why me? And after tonight, well… She sure as shit knows who I am now. Okay, I'm pretty sure she knows who I am… And she's definitely not scared of me. At least it didn't look like she was scared of me… Just what in the hell should I do about it? Does she want me to do something about it? Like talk to her? Fucking hell… Could I man the fuck up and talk to the girl? But what the fuck was I supposed to say? Now I was starting to get pissed off…

I barely registered everyone's reaction to her song, just a lot of noise, a few hoots and a lot of clapping. I knew how good she was. Hell, I was the only one in this room who'd ever heard her sing before. But I did perk up when Dale asked her, "have you ever sung professionally?"

Stella shook her head. "I've been on a stage a few times, but only with my friend's band. And just that song."

Jacquie asked her, "why only that song?"

She shrugged and grinned. "It's always meant a lot to me. I used to be really shy. And I mean _really_ shy. Absolutely terrified of drawing attention to myself. It was crippling, really. But getting up in front of people and singing that song helped me become braver… helped me get over a lot of stuff... fears about people and being noticed... Fears that probably would have left me cowering in a corner while a bunch of walkers turned me into a Happy Meal…." She shrugged again. "So I love to sing it. Especially for you guys," she added and I could have sworn she shot me a quick look… But before I could be sure, she pulled out a slip of paper and called out, "Sophia, you're up!"

I sat there, stunned. Then scowled to cover up the stupid fucking look on my face. I'd always wondered why she'd kept getting up there, night after night, when she'd looked so scared. Hell, with those eyes of her, she'd looked like Bambi at the pointy end of my crossbow. Probably one of the reasons I hadn't been able to take my eyes off her… And she _was_ different now, nothing like the shy, scared person she'd just described. From watching her over the last two weeks, it was obvious that the girl wasn't scared of a damned thing. I'd seen her take out a couple of walkers and walk away like it was nothing. Hell, she laughed at one of them – its jaw had fallen off and the sight of it trying to bite her without any lower teeth had set her off laughing so hard, she sounded like Merle. And the way she didn't take an ounce of shit off Officer ShitforBrains was awesome… That time she'd told him to go write a speeding ticket and rub one out because it looked like he needed to release some tension – that one made me laugh so hard, I'd had to duck into my tent so the little bitches around camp wouldn't see the tears rolling down my face.

I barely paid attention as Sophia walked up and started singing, some teenage poptart shit, 'Breakaway' by Kelly Clarkson. Only reason I knew the song was because my old foreman kept the radio tuned to that bubble gum shit station. Fucking piece of preppy shit, thought he was too good for the job... Wore fucking flip flops to the worksite and docked my pay when I took Chuck to the emergency room that time. Wonder what he's doing now… Chewing on Justin Beiber's leg? Maroon Five crowded around him, feasting on those gnarly-ass feet of his? Guess nobody deserves that shit, but I sure was glad I didn't have to look at his smug fucking face anymore. I tuned back in to what was going on around me… Sophia sounded okay, I guess, but I really only noticed the look on her face, terrified, kind of how Stella looked the first time I laid eyes on her. When she finished, everyone started clapping, so I joined in and gave her a quick nod. I still think the whole idea of Karaoke is pretty fucking stupid, unless you sound like Stella or you're a kid. But T-Dog had been pretty good too… Made me hate him a little bit less for dropping that fucking key…

Now Andrea was up. At least she picked a good song. Hard to fuck up 'And it Stoned Me' by Van Morrison. Unless you just lost your sister, I suppose… Those lines about fishing started it and by the time she got halfway through the song, she was full on hysterical. Goddamnit… I don't want to be a dick, but take that shit somewhere else. Which is what Dale was doing, I suppose, as he walked her out of the room. I just don't get it, why on earth would you want to let other people see you cry? That shit's private, for fuck's sake, and it makes people uncomfortable.

I could tell by the awkward silence that this evening was toast. Stella and a few of the others had just started talking again, but they weren't joking around anymore. I could see a few others draining their glasses too. That was fine, because I needed to get back to my room, get stupid drunk and try not to think about Stella and what I was gonna do about the fact that she'd figured out it was me from six years ago. I stood up, grabbed my half-empty bottle of Southern Comfort and headed out. Took one last look at Stella. Who was looking at me again… It knocked me a bit off my game, maybe that's why I muttered, "well, that sucked all the air out of the room, did'nit…" Blame it on the SoCo, I guess. And being an asshole… Whatever…

But as I walked back to my room, I couldn't stop thinking about the way she'd just looked at me while she sang that song. And how I was pretty sure she wasn't scared of me. And I'm pretty sure that was the same way she'd looked at me six years ago. And what I should do about it… Too many fucking thoughts going through my head… Fuck if I'm going to talk to her around other people. And I can't go to her room, not that I even know where it is… I can just picture it, she answers the door with a 'Hey there, creepy fucker! Still stalking me six years later?' Nope. No fucking way. If Stella recognized me, isn't freaking out about it and wants to have a chat, she'll have to come find me. Which she won't be able to find… unless I leave her some kind of sign, of course. I grabbed two bolts and laid them in an X shape against the wall right outside my door.

Now to wait. Or not wait because she's not coming anyway. Why would she? To find out why I was staring at her? But she stared at me too… She stared at me tonight _and_ six years ago… And if she wasn't scared, then why? Fuck if I know… I started pacing, trying to burn off some of this nervous energy and distract myself from the twisting feeling in my gut. What I wouldn't give for a patch of woods right now… Just trees, some squirrels or a deer, maybe a few walkers… And no girls to mess with my head. They're so fucking confusing. That's why I tend to avoid them, unless I'm really drunk and they're really easy. Too much fucking trouble otherwise… Really, the only time I'd ever gotten worked up over a girl was Stella. Something about her kept pulling me back to that club, again and again. I'd never done anything like that before and never have since. Hell, the closest thing I ever had to a proper date was that girl I asked to prom. What the fuck was her name? Patty… Something. Who the fuck cares. Bitch got wasted and passed out on me, but not before puking in my truck.

But Stella wasn't like that. Not even close. Smart, classy. But it was really those eyes of hers. Soon as I saw them that first night in New Orleans, I couldn't move a fucking muscle. Huge eyes, deep green… And green eyes have always done it for me, but hers were amazing. Still were. Looked like she could write a goddamned book with those eyes. No words. Just eyes. And hell if I didn't want to read it… Geeez… Fucking hell, Dixon… Pull your shit together! She had really nice eyes. Enough said. And she was really pretty, what with that tight little body of hers and pouty lips. And her pale skin and pretty hair… It was longer back then, but everything else was the same, still the same curls, still made me want to touch it, feel it against my skin… I'd managed to get a good whiff of it one night when I dropped a bottle of water behind her chair and leaned down to pick it up. It smelled like rain and honey. Don't know how she managed to smell so good back at camp, but she found a way.

But there was also something about the way she carried herself on that stage six years ago that just killed me. She was scared shitless, but still managed to belt out that song night after night. And that's no little song… It's a cards on the table, balls to the wall kind of song that only works if you put it all out there, and that's why she sang it so good. And she kept doing it. Night after night. Scared as shit. Hell, I could tell she was scared tonight, but she pulled it out from somewhere. And me? I didn't have the balls to even talk to her and find out what the hell was going on… I didn't do it six years ago, and I didn't do it when she joined our group. Time to sack up, man… No Merle causing a ruckus and cockblocking me, no guy to carry her off… She's somewhere nearby… I'll give it another hour and if she doesn't come find me, I'll find her. Even if I have to track that rain and honey smell by sniffing at every -

I heard a quiet knock on the door. Probably just Glenn or some other asshole stopping by for a drunken chat… "Yeah…?"

The door cracked open and Stella opened the door wide enough for me to see that it was her. "Hey."

A/N – just so you know, the next chapter brings some of that smutty goodness I promised. I hope you'll find it worth the wait. Also, please review and let me know what you think of my take on Daryl. In some ways, I fear I've turned him into an adolescent, but then again, he's pretty wasted and, given Reedus' own take on the character, he's emotionally stunted with absolutely no game, so…


	4. Chapter 4

A/N – Be warned, filthy smut coming up. And when I say smutty, I mean if you're under the age of 18, your God, parents and any authority figure you're scared of will instantly be able to read every single filthy word you've read on your face kind of smutty. But if you're over the age of 18 and that's what you're into, welcome.

Disclaimer – I own nothing but Stella, my potty mouth and my filthy imagination. All credit for Daryl and the brilliant series goes to AMC and Robert Kirkman. Anyway, I'm certainly not making any money off this, so nothing here for any legal ferrets to worry about.

**Chapter Four**

Shit… Okay. Gotta play this cool, Dixon… I tried to hold on to the little pep talk I'd just given myself. This shit was gonna get figured out tonight, one way or another. I nodded and said, "come on in." Shit, those bolts out there were letting everyone know where I was… "Hold on a second." I brushed past her and grabbed them, pulling the door shut as I came back in.

Stella was sitting on the couch now, holding out her hand. "You want to give me some of that?"

What? She wants my bolts? Oh… I handed her the bottle, stowed my bolts back in my bag and watched her take a long pull off the bottle, the sight of her throat and her long, pale neck making me think of her skin, how it tasted... Those pretty lips of her wrapped around the bottle… I swallowed. Hard. She grimaced as she handed the bottle back to me who, like a dumbass, just stared at her for a minute before taking it because I was too keyed up to realize what she wanted me to do with it at first. Then she just stared at the floor for a while. And I just kept standing there, staring down at her. What else was I gonna fucking do? She finally glanced up at me. "So?"

What? What did she just say? I stood there, considering the word for a while, getting more and more pissed off because the word, by itself, didn't mean a fucking thing! So… _What_? What the fuck? She comes to my room to talk to me and all she can say is say, 'so?' Not, 'I remember you.' Not, 'why the fuck were you staring at me?' Not even a, 'nice room you got here.' I took another drink, put the bottle down on the desk and turned back to her with a scowl. I pull one of those out whenever I need whoever I'm dealing with to get to the fucking point or leave me the fuck alone. "So? Why the fuck are you here?" Shit… That came out meaner than I meant it to…

The pissed off 'duh!' look on her face told me she sure as hell wasn't scared… "Because I remembered you?" At least she got to the fucking point.

I decided to pull out my old standby, the defensive maneuver. "Well, it sure as shit took you long enough to figure out who I was, huh?"

Stella stood up and got in my face. Man, her eyes got really dark when she was pissed… "How the hell was I supposed to know who the hell you were? You never even looked at me until tonight!"

The words slipped out before I realized it. "Oh, I looked at you…" Well, it was out there now. Creepy fucking stalker guy, that's me…

Stella shrugged, not seeming to care about it. "Well, you could have fooled me because I never saw you looking! Maybe you could have tried talking to me?"

Really? She wanted me to just go up to her, talk to her about it when she didn't even remember me? "What the fuck was I supposed to say?" I pulled out my dumb fucker voice, " 'Member that time you sang that song… In that club… In New Orleans…" Oh. Judging by the look on her face, guess she doesn't like my dumb fucker voice. "Anyways, you probably had guys gawking at you every time you sang…"

Now she just looked frustrated. But not as pissed, so I guess that's good. "I rarely sang. And no one. Ever." She paused and the words bounced around the room for a bit before she continued, "has looked at me like you did. Never."

Oh. I guess I made an impression… But I still had no idea what kind of impression… I didn't know what to say so I didn't say anything.

"I'm serious, Daryl. You remember me? Well, I remember you." Her eyes were flashing and intense and refused to let me look away. "No way I could forget the way you looked at me. When I first got to camp, you seemed familiar, but I didn't know how or even _if_ I knew you. But as soon as I saw you looking at me tonight… As soon as I got a good look at your eyes, I knew. I knew exactly who you were."

She stopped, maybe expecting me to say something. But I was stunned, I didn't even know what to think at this point, let alone find the words to talk about it. She continued softly, "six years later and all hell breaking loose…" She paused for a bit, then continued in a voice that made sure I heard her, "and I remember everything."

"Yeah?" That's all I could pull out of my throat. The way she said that, how she remembered everything, was ringing in my ears. Because I did too. I remember how I'd wanted to grab her and kiss her when she'd walked off the stage each night. Just like I wanted to grab her and kiss her right now.

She nodded firmly, a stubborn look on her face. "Yeah."

I stood there for a moment, just staring at those pouty lips of hers. Deciding that I was gonna kiss her. This woman was gonna get kissed. Right now. I grabbed her, leaned down and kissed her so fucking hard, she had no choice about whether or not she was gonna kiss me back. It wasn't slow and it wasn't gentle. I went straight in with my tongue, like I needed to carve out… a home in there or something. I was kissing her so hard, I couldn't even tell if she was kissing me back. Her hands were grabbing my head, but maybe she was trying to pull me off her? Shit… I pulled away and stepped back. "Fuck, I'm sorry. Shouldn't have done that."

She looked up at me, a stunned expression on her face. Oh, now she looked really pissed… She pushed me, not very hard, but she definitely pushed me. "Yes, you should have." Huh? She pushed me again and this time I let her move me back a step. "You should have kissed me like that six years ago…" She pushed me again and her eyes looked like they were gonna catch fire. "You can't look at a woman like that and not kiss her." One last push and I felt my back hit the wall. She was out of breath and now, instead of angry, she looked kind of pitiful, but sexy as hell at the same time. "So, are you gonna kiss me?"

"Fuck…." Wow, I sure read that wrong. Way wrong… But how could I have known what she wanted me to do? My limited experience with bar skanks hadn't given me a very well-rounded education when it came to women… But if she wanted me to kiss her again, hell if I was gonna say no. I was gonna kiss her like I'd wanted to kiss her six years ago. Like I'd wanted to kiss her when she sang tonight… I cupped her cheeks, leaned down and gave her a soft, slow, sweet kiss. Certainly sweeter than I thought I was capable of, even though that's how I'd always imagined kissing her. Because that's how her lips were meant to be kissed, not the way I'd raped her face a few minutes ago. She must have liked it as much as I did, because I heard and felt her sigh into my mouth as she wrapped her arms around my waist, fingers digging into me, pushing her body against me… Yeah, this was the way to kiss Stella… Her lips were so fucking soft, the feel of her tongue in my mouth… It was everything I'd thought a kiss from her would be like… She kissed like she sang… fiery, deep, like her heart was in her mouth…

And the feel of her against me, Jesus fuck… My blood was starting to boil now and I could feel my dick getting hard. It was like every thought, ache and wish I'd ever had about her came bubbling up and I couldn't hold it in anymore. I needed to feel more of her… But the fucking wall was at my back and I couldn't get enough leverage. She was such a tiny little thing, so I reached down and grabbed her waist, lifted her up and turned us around so she was against the wall now. Yeah, that was it… Now I could feel every inch of her pressed against me… God, she felt so good… I pulled away to take a breath and buried my face into her neck. And man, her skin was so soft… and that rain and honey smell… I groaned… I wanted to kiss and taste every inch of her… I licked the side of her neck and started kissing a little hollow spot right behind her ear… The smell of hers was strongest there and I couldn't get enough of it. I wanted to kiss it, taste it, eat it, it was so good…

She must have liked what I was doing, because she moaned, grabbed my neck and tried to climb up my body. I reached down, grabbed her thighs and pulled her up until I could feel her wrapped around me like a vine. Fuck, the things she was doing to me… I could feel her fingers digging into my shoulders and her legs squeezing around me, and my cock just wanted _in_ there… I ground my hips into her and groaned, "Jesus Christ, Stella…" I started kissing her again, hard and hot, our tongues rolling and twisting… I couldn't get enough of her, I just wanted inside her mouth… I wanted everything... I hadn't even seen or felt those tits of hers, pressed so tight against me... I wanted to see her naked… I wanted inside her pussy… God, just the thought of my dick inside her made me feel like I was gonna go off right then and there… I needed to make sure she wanted this though… Before it went so far that I couldn't stop. She sure seemed to like what we were doing, but I had to make sure. I barely managed to pull myself out of her neck to look at her and ask, "you wanna do this? You want me to fuck you?" My blood was on fire and I wasn't gonna beat around the bush.

The way she looked at me, her eyes glazed over, was sexy as all fuck. She was breathing so heavy, I could barely make out the hissed "yessssss," but I heard it alright. This was gonna _happen_… I planted my hands on that sweet ass of hers, loving how her cheeks fit my hands like they'd been made for me, carried her over to the couch and sat down, making sure she stayed wrapped around me. Now that shirt of hers had to come off, because I needed to get at those tits of hers. God, I just wanted to bury myself in those things… Much bigger than you'd expect on a girl her size... I hoped like hell I wouldn't find out they were fake. That shit just ain't right… Like opening up a Christmas present, expecting Atari and finding a puzzle instead. And I know 'cause that shit happened to me when I was twelve. Pa fucked with me for three months, telling me he was gonna get me the Atari game system, even found the box for it, then laughed his ass off when I pulled out that shitty little puzzle with the piece missing. Fucking asshole…

As soon as I got her shirt off and touched her, I could tell her tits were real. Fucking perfect and wrapped up in a sexy black lace bra… I love girlie underwear. Not wearing it, of course, just looking at it. Imagining what it was hiding, before taking it off and getting to the goodies underneath. Not like I had a whole lot of actual experience with girlie underwear. Just those Victoria's Secret catalogues that kept getting delivered to my house. And my hand… I hadn't fucked a whole lot of girls, only four, and they were in the dark and pretty quick, so I'd never been able to get a good look at what they were wearing. Oh, wait, four and a half. The last one, three years ago, but that didn't count as a whole fuck 'cause her boyfriend started beating on the car and we had to stop so I could kick his ass. I'd decided right then and there that girls just weren't worth the fucking trouble. Until now… This girl was worth the trouble and I was gonna take my time…

I loved the feel of her tits, the lace, the way her white skin glowed against the black... But now I needed to see what they tasted like. I buried my mouth in between them, lips and tongue digging deep, loving the feel of them on my face. I ran my tongue over one of her nipples, all pointy and sticking out of the lace. She seemed to like that, judging by the sounds she was making and the way she was arching her back, pushing them into my mouth. That bra needed to come off. Now. I impressed myself with how quickly I got it off her and now we were back in business. Jesus Christ… Could a set of tits be any more perfect? All creamy and soft, bouncy and round. And they were all mine… Well, they were hers but judging by the way her fingers were digging into my scalp, pulling me tight, she seemed to want me to play with them for a while. And her nipples… Big, pink, all puckered and pointy just like little bullseyes… I dove in, licking them, biting them, pinching them… Jesus… The moans coming out of her throat, the way she was squirming on my lap, her hands undoing the buttons on my shirt… Time to take that off. I needed to feel her skin against me…

Wait. It was too bright in here. "Hold on," I said as I picked her up and sat her down on the couch before getting the lights. But even after I turned on the bathroom light and switched off the overhead one, it was still too fucking bright. I pulled the bathroom door closed a bit. That'll work… Just enough light to look at her, but hopefully not enough for her to see the scars all over my back. I just wanted to be with her, not deal with all the questions or sad looks. But as soon as I turned back to the couch, I realized I was getting another kind of look altogether. I ignored it and pushed her back down on the couch. Once I started in on her tits again, she seemed to get over my weird fixation with the lights.

I lost myself in there for a while, the feel of her skin, her smell, the little moans and whines I was pulling from her body as I licked, kissed and bit her nipples… The way she moved under me and the feel of her hands and fingers as they reached under my shirt to rub and stroke my back and shoulders… I reached behind me and pulled my shirt off and Jesus fucking Christ… the feel of her hot skin under me was making me insane… I dove into her mouth again and damn… The way she was sucking on my tongue and my bottom lip… Never kissed nobody like this before. Guess this is why people always make such a fuss over kissing. Sure had me fussing, judging by the fact that my dick was now hard enough to drill a hole through the cushions of the couch… Shit, I was hard enough to drill a hole through her… Fucking hell, I need to calm the fuck down…

I buried myself in her neck and took a few deep breaths, trying like hell to imagine a bag of ice dumped down my pants. Kind of hard to do with the way her legs were wrapped around me, thighs squeezing and hips pushing into me… I knew I was already close to coming and was scared shitless that I'd go off the minute I put my dick in her. But if I was gonna get her off – and I wanted to in the worst way – I had to get her really close, had to shift the focus off of me. I started in on her neck again and began to move down her body, stopping to lick and kiss all the places I now knew she liked, trying to deepen and lengthen each moan and sigh I pulled from her. I sat up a bit and looked down at her while I unbuttoned her jeans and slowly pulled them over her hips and down her legs. I couldn't believe that this was really Stella, practically naked and panting. She wanted me… Like I wanted her… I pulled her jeans all the way off and tossed them on the floor. This was fucking unreal, but I didn't want to question it. She was right here, laid out in front of me…

I lifted one of her legs up over my shoulder and started to stroke and kiss my way up her calf, stopping halfway up lick the hollow behind her knee… Who knew the back of a woman's knee could be so fucking sexy? I did the same with her other leg and, by this time, she was groaning and squirming… The sight was so fucking hot… When I bent down and started kissing and licking my way up her thighs, she let out a whimper and her hips started bucking off the couch. I knew she wanted me to touch her… And I was itching to see how wet she was, but I held off. I was gonna make her wait for it… But as I moved up to her belly button, I buried my head in her hip and groaned… Her smell was driving me crazy… Like the ocean, salty and sweet and some kind of soap… I had this sudden urge to taste her… But I'd never gone down on a woman before and had no clue as to how to go about it… Should I? Does she even want me to?

I looked up at her as I slowly dragged my tongue around her belly button. She let out a whimper and whispered, "please…" as she squirmed up the couch and pushed down on my shoulders. Yeah, that's exactly what she wanted… Fuck it. I was gonna go for it… I'll figure it out when I get down there. I hooked my fingers in her panties and started to pull them down. And the expression on her face… Eyes dark and sparking, swollen lips, the way she kept holding her breath and letting it out in loud gasps… And I hadn't even started yet! She must have seen the grin on my face, because the way she smiled back at me… Like I was Santa Claus and she'd just caught me leaving her the best present in the world. So… Fucking… Sexy…

Now she was full on naked and, as I looked down at her pussy, a voice popped into my head, 'now there's the kitty cat…' Jesus, Merle… Shut the fuck up and get out of my head! I buried my face in the soft strip of hair – it matched the drapes but was a bit darker – but froze as soon as soon as I touched her pussy. My god, she was so fucking _wet_… It was making me hot in a way I didn't even know how to handle… I'd planned to take my time and tease her, but there was no way I could hold off anymore. I needed to get in there and taste her. Right. Fucking. Now...

I grabbed her thighs and yanked them apart, then pulled her open with my hands before diving in with my tongue, scooping it into her pussy. As soon as I tasted her, I couldn't stop licking, sucking, trying to pull as much of her into my mouth as I could. I had no idea what I was doing, I just couldn't get over how good she tasted… Like… pussy nectar… So fucking sweet and a little bit salty, with a just a bit of something else, musky kind of… The way she tasted was like nothing else I'd ever tasted and I couldn't get enough of it, didn't ever wanna stop… And the sounds she was making, "oh my God…" and "please…" and that low groan of hers… I loved that all those sounds were because of what I was doing to her, that she was so turned on and it was because of me…

I searched for her clit with my tongue and, judging by the way she was moaning and pushing her pussy into my face, I'm pretty sure I found it… I pushed down on her hips so I wouldn't lose my spot and started to lick circles around it, really slowly. Yeah, that had to be it, no doubt about it, judging by the way she just whined and her legs were shaking. When I wrapped my lips around it and started sucking, she started going crazy. It felt like she was trying to push me off the couch with her hips, but the way her fingers were digging into my scalp, holding my face down there, I knew she didn't want me going anywhere. She groaned again, so loud this time I could feel the vibrations in her pussy, and ended in something that almost sounded like a howl… If she does that again, I swear I'm gonna come in my pants... And it'll be worth it just to hear it again.

I suddenly remembered something I read in Penthouse once about eating pussy, that you're supposed to use your fingers at the same time, so I shoved my tongue back in there and started rubbing her clit the same way I'd been licking it. I could tell I was doing it right when I felt her pussy get even wetter and she started bucking into my face. I was getting off on the fact that I was able to make her so crazy and decided right then and there that I wasn't gonna come up for air until she got off. Wasn't even thinking of fucking her anymore, I just wanted her to come on my face and hear her howl again.

I shifted my knees under me to get more comfortable and held one arm over her hips to hold her in position, then went back to licking and sucking on her clit as I stuck one of my fingers in her pussy. She was close, I could feel it in the way she was tensing up and straining against me, and I could hear it when she started whimpering and gasping for air. She was right there and I wasn't gonna stop for anything now. I added another finger, then started to pull my fingers out and push them back in, over and over, a little bit faster, just fucking her with my fingers like it was my dick. Then I tried to match my rhythm with my mouth as I sucked on her clit.

When her hips started to shake under me and one of her hands slapped my shoulder, I knew she was starting to come. I kept going but slowed down a little bit. I wanted to pull that orgasm out of her, slow and long… I felt her pussy tighten around my fingers and then I heard it – she groaned my name, "Daaaaaaryyyylll…" It started out low, it stretched out long, then it trailed off. My name. Which I'd only ever heard her say about five or six times. But it was my name she was screaming and I swear, the way she said it, the way the sound hit my ears… it was like she was singing to me... Not 'Crazy'… A different song this time. And this one hit me harder, deeper, sharper... Because this song was for me, no one else. She wasn't thinking about what she was saying, she was completely off her head. But she still knew exactly who was making her feel this way. She knew it was me.

A/N – I wanted to give this chapter the title, 'Daryl Goes Downtown,' but I didn't want to spoil the surprise… Please review and let me know what you think.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N – I must say, this was sinfully fun to write…

Disclaimer – I own nothing but Stella, my potty mouth and my filthy imagination. All credit for Daryl and the brilliant series goes to AMC and Robert Kirkman. Anyway, I'm certainly not making any money off this, so nothing here for any legal ferrets to worry about.

**Chapter Five **

I have no idea how long I laid there. Except for the occasional twitch as my orgasm faded out into a tingly warmth that spread toevery part of my body, I couldn't move. My bones were peanut butter, my muscles were jelly and my insides were syrup. When I finally did manage to open my eyes, I couldn't help but grin at the sight of him sitting there, leaning against the back of the couch, his chin tucked into his hand… And looking down at me with the sweetest, shyest smile on his face. And those blue eyes of his… I somehow managed to make my throat work and mumbled, "hi…"

"Hi." Daryl tightened his jaw and tried to hide the smile, but I'd seen it, no doubt about it. It was still flickering in his eyes, despite his best efforts to hide it.

Wow… Badass Daryl had just given me the best orgasm of my entire life, but now he was shy? I'm the one laying spread-eagled on the couch, having just lost all control of myself, moaning and screaming myself hoarse… And he was the one who was shy? I tried to hide my smirk as I thought about how much fun it would be to take that shy and turn it into a blush… I raked my hands through my hair and tried to fake a dazed look as I murmured, "I think I just passed out… Hey, why am I naked?" I sat up and widened my eyes, asking in a raised voice, "Did you just have your way with me?"

It worked. He chuckled, but I also saw a full-fledged flush creeping up his face, even turning the tips of his ears bright red. Who would have thought this was possible? Daryl Dixon blushing… In a weird way, it made me feel powerful… But I decided to be nice and let up a little. "What you just did to me? Daryl… that was amazing…"

The blush was still there, now tempered with a prideful grin that screamed, 'shucks.' I didn't want to make him blush anymore, now I just wanted to kiss him in the worst way.

"Come here…" I murmured as I summoned the energy to reach up and pull him down to me, giving him a kiss that I hoped conveyed my appreciation for all the wonderful things he'd just done to my body. I was still reeling from the fact that this guy, who'd just given me an orgasm that had tilted my orbit off its axis, made the heavens open up and sing, and turned me into a writhing, uncontrollable hussy who seemed to have no problem losing her sexual shit with a guy after barely one conversation… Was also the same guy who'd had such a profound impact on me six years ago, as well as the socially awkward badass I'd been living with for the last two weeks.

I wasn't mad about it, though. It was just one of those beautifully absurd things that sometimes happen in life. Not to me, though… Until now. This man had rocked my world in the best way possible, at a time when most things that rocked my world weren't all that fun. And given the increasingly heated way he was kissing me, coupled with the large bulge I felt digging into my thigh, I was reminded that I needed to return the favor. Actually, I wanted to return the favor. I wasn't sure what my vagina could handle right now, but I knew that I wanted to make him groan and lose control like I just had…

I wrapped my legs around his waist, leaving enough space between us so I could reach down and run my fingers down the front of his pants. He groaned into my mouth as I lightly gripped his cock, increasing pressure as I slowly ran my hand up and down his length, loving how hard he was and the feel of him in my hand. I wasn't surprised when I realized how big he was. Daryl had a way about him that made it very clear that he was utterly at home in his own skin, even if he wasn't around other people. A kind of swagger that told you he'd never once looked in the mirror and worried about what others might think about his appearance, nor had he ever walked around worrying about the size of his penis… As I ran my fingernail around the ridge where the head meets the shaft, I heard his breathing hitch and felt him jerk under my fingers. I could feel my blood start to hum and was suddenly overcome with an overwhelming need to feel him in my mouth… It wasn't about being polite and returning the favor anymore. I wanted to taste him, hear him groan, feel him writhe under me, gush onto my tongue…

I unlocked my legs from around his waist, sat up and pushed at his shoulders until he was kneeling before me, then pushed him further back until we had switched positions and he was the one lying on his back. I leaned down to kiss him slowly, teasingly, as I started to stroke his chest and stomach, tracing all those beautiful, hard muscles of his… I started to run my fingers along what felt like a scar that ran across his abdomen, but stopped when I felt him tense under me. I suddenly realized that he must be feeling self-conscious about his scars, not knowing I'd already seen them down at the quarry… That was probably why he'd jumped up to turn off the overhead light… Of course I was curious, but the last thing I wanted to do was press him on it or make him feel uncomfortable. All I wanted to do was make him feel as good as he'd made me feel, so I moved to his arms and shoulders, savoring the feel of his hard muscles and skin under my fingers… I pulled out of the kiss, smiling as he chased me with his mouth, and bent down to kiss and lick his neck. God, he tasted so good… And his smell… Like green things… and everything that is male…

I sat up again and gave him a wicked grin, wanting to make sure he knew I had plans to do dirty, dirty things to his body… He was breathing heavily now, his eyes narrowed and looking at me with a hunger that deepened my own, making me moan softly and grind against him. His hands skated up my waist until they reached the sides of my breasts, his large calloused thumbs grazing my nipples, pulling another soft moan from me as I thrust even harder against his cock. I leaned down and braced myself on my elbows, leaving just enough space to slowly drag my nipples across his the sparse dusting of hairs on his chest. The feeling was exquisite, sending electric pulses to my belly, feeding the hunger for closeness that seemed to be building in him as well… He arched his neck and groaned, sharply pushing into the ache that had started to pulse between my legs, before grabbing my hair and pulling me against him into a fierce kiss that pulled the air out of my lungs, leaving me breathless and panting. But I didn't care… I didn't care that I was drowning… The feel of his tongue as it dominated mine pushed erased all rational thought. All desire to lick him, suck him and tease him was gone, leaving only the aggression and intensity of his need as it consumed me…

As soon as I pulled out of the kiss to get a breath, he grabbed me by my hips and pulled me up until my breast was in his mouth, raspy stubble deliciously scraping against my skin as he rolled my other nipple between his calloused fingers, then pinched it sharply. It was like an electric current was taking all that heat and sensation directly into my molten core. I moaned loudly, "god, Daryl…" I needed him inside me. Now.

I roughly pulled away from him and scooted down his body, struggling to unbutton his pants until his hands joined mine and, between the two of us, we managed to get his pants open, over his hips and down his legs. I was in a frenzy now as I pulled his boxers down, barely able to control myself as I saw his beautiful cock spring free, and yanked the offending garments free of his legs. Now I wanted him in my mouth again, but before I could do more than wrap my lips around the tip, he'd grabbed my waist and pulled me up to kiss him again, hard and fervent again, our need for one another playing out with tangled tongues and lips fighting for dominance. I could feel the length of him rub against me, hard and thick as it slid against my slit, and the throbbing inside me deepened, a furious ache that begged to feel him inside me, to feel him fill me…

He suddenly grabbed my hair and pulled me away from our kiss, forcing my eyes to meet his, and muttered thickly, "I'm gonna… Fuck... You... So…. Hard…" The sound of his deep voice dripping with molasses, combined with his flashing eyes and savage, almost violent need made me gasp loudly, before answering with a strangled, "yes… Do it…" I felt him grab my hips roughly and I grabbed the base of his cock, angling my hips until the tip was poised at my entrance… I felt his fingers tighten, signaling that he was about to pull me down onto him, and knew right then that I'd never wanted anything this badly in my life. Overcome with the anticipation of feeling his cock inside me, scratching the itch that threatened to consume me, I whimpered, "please… get inside me… please…"

He suddenly froze and groaned, "Jesus fuck! We need something…" He deftly rolled out from under me and I lay there for a moment, dazed, before I realized that he was rummaging in his bag for a condom. I couldn't believe I hadn't thought of it myself, not that I even knew where I would find one… I was usually so responsible, but then again, I'd never had such a mind-scrambling orgasm or wanted someone to fuck me this badly before… As he pulled assorted items of his bag and tossed them around the room, I heard him growl several times in frustration before whispering, "yessss…" and turning back to me. I couldn't help it, I started to giggle at the sight of him standing there, condom in his hand, a triumphant grin on his face and that magnificent cock of his waving howdy. I saw the elation slide off his face and tried to explain. "Oh, Daryl… You look so adorable…"

Daryl scowled then, which made me realize I had probably blurted out the worst possible word to describe him. And I'm sure I never would have if he hadn't turned me into such a big bowl of desperate need... Why the hell did I use the term 'adorable' to describe him? To his face? He was Daryl, after all… "I meant adorable in the most sexy, manly way possible. So would you just get your ass over here and fuck me? Please?" That was all it took, it seemed, because he threw me another one of his shy grins and reached me in two strides.

He grabbed me around the waist again, lifting me up as he slid under me, then sat me down again to straddle his lap as he mumbled, "we're picking up exactly where we left off…" I laughed softly, loving how strong he was, how he could so easily pick me up and put me exactly where he wanted me. As he ripped the condom packet open with his teeth, an intent look on his face, I decided to take advantage of the slowed pace afforded by his condom quest and my stupid comment. I leaned down to kiss his chest, loving the feel of the springy hair against my face, the taste and smell of his skin, the map of muscles under my fingers... I moved up to his collar bone, dipping my tongue in the hollow right above it. His breathing quickened and I felt his hands stop mid-stroke on my back as I dragged my lips up his neck and then my tongue up behind his ear, before moving to his lips. I kissed him then, a slow, languid one this time, brushing his lips with my tongue, then pulling his lower lip into my mouth and sucking it slowly.

While I continued to kiss him, I took the condom, pulled it out of the package and slowly unrolled it down the length of his shaft, savoring the feel and weight of him in my hand, smiling at his groaned, "Jesus…", and shivering at the thought that he'd soon be buried inside me. I sat up and resumed my former position, taking his hands and placing them on my hips, before fisting the base of his cock and hovering over him until he was poised at my entrance. I reached down and gently grabbed his chin with my other hand to make sure his eyes were on mine, needing to feel them on me… I slowly sank down onto his cock and moaned as I felt him fill me, stretch me… All the time, never taking my eyes off his… Suddenly realizing that his gaze held the same exact expression as they had six years ago. And the very thought that he'd stood there, night after night, thinking about fucking me like this… I shuddered and moaned his name, "Daryl…"

But I wasn't capable of holding that thought for more than a split second, because as soon as I finished sliding down his length, he thrusted up while pulling me down, burying himself so deeply inside me that I couldn't hold his eyes anymore. I closed my eyes, arched my back and gasped loudly, responding to the sound of his low groan and the feel of him inside me, unbelievably hard and deep… It was almost painful, but so acutely satisfying that it triggered a slow, hot, throbbing pulse that left me with no other choice but to roll my hips… After a few moments, I opened my eyes again and found him still staring at me, his eyes darker now, like granite about to explode into a million tiny shards… And just like six years ago, I couldn't look away… Nor did I want to as I braced my hands against his chest and slowly found my rhythm…

His eyes were magnets, pulling me into him just as much as my slow strokes were pulling him into me, binding us together in a way I'd never felt before... It scared me, but it also felt like the most perfect thing in the world… I have no idea how long we stayed like that, locked together in that strange, trance-like state, before I felt his hands move to the small of my back, then the pressure of his fingers stroking upward and pushing me forward until I was pressed against him and we were kissing again, slowly, deeply, tongue moving against tongue in time with my strokes. I could feel his hands back on my hips, but he remained still under me, letting me continue to set the pace and control our movements, even though the pressure of his fingers and his quickening breath told me he that the pressure was building within him, that he wanted nothing more than to take over.

I was close too. The new position and the added pressure against his abdomen were gradually pulling me into a tidal swell, the weight of my orgasm building, my breaths too short to capture the air I needed. I pulled myself from his kiss and braced my hands on either side of his chest, needing to feel his gaze again, to keep me from drifting away in the current that was starting to pull me out to sea. His eyes narrowed and so intense he almost looked angry, he grabbed my hips roughly and started thrusting into me as he pushed and pulled me onto his cock, keeping the same pace, but taking control of our movements. The feel of him slamming into me, over and over, harder and harder, pushed me up the tidal crest, and the ferocious need in his eyes… It was like they reached out, grabbed me and pulled me over the edge. I could feel myself starting to quake around him, pulling him deeper, as a strangled scream wrenched from my throat and a violent shudder consumed my body. His tight hold on me kept me from collapsing, because I could no longer control my movements as he continued to slam into me while I rode the spasms that shook my body. The only thing I could control were my eyes, still locked into his, as I felt him convulse under me, explode inside me, as his face contorted and I heard my name, "Stella…" the sound a strangled hiss as it escaped from his throat with a push of warm breath against my face.

A/N – Closes laptop softly. Tiptoes out of the room...


	6. Chapter 6

A/N – No lemony(I just learned that term yesterday) goodness in this one…. But Daryl CUDDLES! Holy FUCK!

Disclaimer – I own nothing but Stella, my potty mouth and my filthy imagination. All credit for Daryl and the brilliant series goes to AMC and Robert Kirkman. Anyway, I'm certainly not making any money off this, so nothing here for any legal ferrets to worry about.

**Chapter Six**

I must have blacked out at some point, because the first coherent thought I had was that Daryl was remarkably cuddly. As in, I was cuddling the man. As in, he was letting me cuddle him. And as long as he was letting me, I wasn't planning on moving again. Ever. Because this was the most relaxed and… well, happy is the word, I guess, that I've felt in a long, long time. I was tucked between him and the back of the couch, my head resting on his shoulder, my leg thrown over his and my fingers were slowly moving through the sparse dusting of hairs on his chest. I felt the muscles under my head move slightly and a soft pressure on the top of my head. A pressure that felt like a kiss… Which part of me refused to believe, but the other part… Well, I've experienced a few post-coital kisses to the head before, so I know what one feels like. Yup. Daryl had just kissed the top of my head. But he must have been as shocked as I was, because I felt him tense up a bit. Now I was sure. Daryl was letting me cuddle him and had just kissed the top of my head, but was now a little bit freaked out about it. Wow… Not only was he a cunninglingus virtuoso, but he fucked like a tantric master _and_ he had a little bit of a tender side to him. Oh, and lest I forget, he was also the man from six years ago whose eyes helped to make me brave _and_ the pissy, socially awkward redneck I'd been living with for two weeks. Yeah. A lot to take in… But at least I was supremely comfortable doing it…

I just couldn't get over what we'd just done. The way we'd locked eyes in some strange, erotic mindmeld wasn't like anything I had ever experienced before. Not that I had tons of experience… A few boyfriends, two of whom had been pretty good in bed. So I certainly wasn't a stranger to an orgasm, but hell… Two intense orgasms so close together? The overwhelming lust? As in get your fucking clothes off _now_, get that cock of yours in me _now_, I'm gonna come harder than I think my lady parts can handle _now_… well, it kind of felt kind of like he'd popped my cherry. Because what we'd just done was unlike any kind of sex I'd experienced before, what with the weird, almost surreal connection we'd had just from looking at one another… And how just those eyes of his, feeling them on mine, had triggered an explosive orgasm the likes of which I'd never experienced before. I wanted to thank him for it, write a song about it, maybe erect a shrine to him… Jesus… I was a big bowl of stupid again….

"Why'd you look at me when you sang?" I was shocked out of my reverie. Not only had Daryl just spoken, but the question he'd asked was… well… pretty much the crux of why we were laying here on this couch. And I'd never pegged him for a guy interested in getting to the heart of any type of matter that involved feelings. Wow… The man just kept surprising me. I looked up and smiled at him, managing to catch a flash of his own before he tried to hide it. Baby steps, sweetie. I don't bite… Well, if we fuck again, I very well could. No telling what I'm capable of with this man…

I was still feeling thankful, so I murmured, "first," as I turned my head and kissed him softly, before laying back down on his chest. Wow… He smelled so good, like sex and sweat and trees and clean dirt… Anyway, if he wanted some answers, I was more than happy to go there. Because I needed some of my own. "That's a good question… I was going to ask you the same thing. And I'm curious about a few other things, too."

I could feel him tense up again. And it wasn't difficult to figure out the reason. I'd observed Daryl enough around camp to know that he, more than most men, didn't do the whole touch-feely emotional stuff and that he was starting to panic. And I'd also been around the block a few times with squirrely men and knew that he thought I was about to pull the whole 'we need talk about our feelings' line of discourse. But really, other than full access to the playground that was his body and that magnificent cock of his, I didn't know what I wanted from him. And until I did, until I could make sense of that strange connection we had and what it meant… Well, I didn't see any point in talking about it. I also didn't like dealing with abstract, emotional, angsty bullshit any more than he probably did.

I hated all of that. All the stuff people kept hidden was confusing enough. That was what had scared me the most, before I became brave that is. And after? Well, I decided that I wasn't going to waste time speculating and getting all neurotic about emotions, worries and matters that people didn't choose to expose. I was only going to worry about the things that people decided to reveal to me… And it worked. It simplified my world enough so that I could move amongst people, on equal footing, with my head held high.

But life was also short, a brutal fact I'd been reminded of every day since dead people started waking up and chewing on people. And the bizarre confluence of events that had brought us together again, naked on this couch, was an opportunity that I refused to pass up. So he could wrestle with what he though was going through my head as much as he wanted. I'd help him out by being honest and direct, but I was going to get some answers.

I sat up and grabbed one of the blankets sitting on the back of the couch, throwing him a raised eyebrow as I tried to reassure him, "settle down, son…" I unfolded it and wrapped it around myself, refusing to look away as he scowled at me. "What? You think I'm just gonna lay here naked while you get all squirrely on me?" The puzzled look on his face was so cute, I started to laugh again. "Tell you what, I'll share the blanket if you stop being weird…"

He started to chuckle, shaking his head slightly as he sat up and grabbed a corner of the blanket to cover that beautiful penis of his. Even now, I really wanted to reach over and touch it… Okay… Settle down, Stella... I pulled my eyes away and took a deep breath. That had to wait because we were going to have this long-awaited chat. And I was starting to lose my buzz, so some more booze might be in order. I yanked the blanket back and told him, "hold up. I'll share the blanket if you stop being weird _and_ go get that bottle of rancid cough syrup you like to call whiskey. 'Cause if we're gonna sit here and start talking about this stuff, well… I'm gonna need a drink."

He looked at me for a second, an inscrutable look on his face, before getting up to go grab the bottle. That was the first time I'd seen his ass… and it was a fine, fine ass… Sculpted, but more fleshy than I would have expected… And I wasn't typically an ass woman – I liked shoulders, backs, chests… But that ass of his made me want to grab it, sink my teeth in it… I tried to hide my smirk as he walked back to the couch and sat down, knowing he was probably feeling self-conscious. I certainly didn't want to give him a reason to shut down on me before I got some answers. But I couldn't help it… Daryl Dixon had a mighty fine ass and, based on the confused, slightly pissed look he was giving me, he had absolutely no idea that the expression on his face now had me on the verge of hysterics. I pulled my knees up to my chest and buried my face in them, trying to stifle the laughter bubbling up my throat, as he pulled the blanket over his lap with one hand and took a long drink from the bottle with the other.

"The fuck?" he asked, a scowl darkening his face as he handed me the bottle.

I couldn't stop laughing… Well, I guess he deserved to know that I tended to bust out laughing at the most inappropriate things. And one of them, I was learning, was the way I could make him nervous. And confused. Because his tell was that scowl of his, an expression that probably worked pretty well at intimidating other people… But not me. Not anymore. Plus, making him blush was too much fucking fun. "You have a mighty fine ass on you, Daryl Dixon. A sweet, sweet ass… And I was just enjoying the view." I shrugged and savored the flush rising up his neck and cheeks. But then I started to feel a bit guilty… I mentally slapped my wrist, 'bad Stella… mean Stella…'

Anyway, enough distraction. I needed some questions answered and, in order to do that, I needed to redirect the conversation back to the matter at hand – the fact that we both had questions and we both wanted answers. Hell, he was the one who brought it up, hadn't he? I had a sudden flash of inspiration… We'd do a tradeoff, I'd answer one of his questions and, in return, he'd have to answer one of mine. "That was your first question. Which I answered." I grabbed the bottle and took a drink… Ugh, this stuff was disgusting… I handed him back the bottle before adding, "now it's my turn."

He looked at me like I'd just asked him to wake up everybody and a host a naked dance party in the kitchen. "What do you mean, my first question?"

"We both have questions, right? So I'll make you a deal. For every one of yours – which I'll answer honestly, no bullshit, I swear – you have to answer one of mine. And seriously, no bullshit allowed." I smirked and added, "not after what we just did to each other."

I waited patiently as he sat there, staring at his lap and chewing on his fingernail, considering the deal I'd just offered. I got the sense that the kind of heart-to-heart discussion I was proposing wasn't something Daryl was accustomed to. And if we were gonna do this, he needed to be on board. He finally looked over at me again, a tightness to the corner of his mouth and a vaguely shy cast to his eyes, and gave me his answer. "Okay. But that last question doesn't count. And I go first." He turned to face me, an intent look on his face, before continuing. "Why'd you look at me when you sang?"

Oh. Well, here we go… I tried to find the right words to describe why I hadn't been able to take my eyes off him, but gave up after a moment and decided to just start talking. Hopefully, the words that come out would arrange themselves in a way that would help him understand without making me look like some simple, romantic sap… "Well, that first night, I was so scared… Terrified. But I looked up and there you were." I glanced over at him to see his reaction, which told me only one thing – that he was interested in my answer. I looked back down and started to twist the blanket around my fingers, before continuing, "so I locked into you and… I don't know exactly why, but looking at you kept me from losing my shit and running off stage." I let go of the blanket and smoothed it over my knees as I realized there was more to it than that. "And there was some of that over the next few nights as well, but… as I got more and more brave, it was less about that and more about… Just wanting to look at you."

I can't believe I just said that… With that last admission, I was feeling a bit more exposed than I was comfortable with. So I decided to lighten the mood a bit and see if I could make him blush again. I shot him a wicked grin. "You sure got some perty eyes on you, Daryl." Yup. Mission accomplished. The glare he was giving me was perfectly complimented by a rosy shade of, 'fuck you, bitch, I ain't perty.' The man was definitely not one for compliments… I started to tick off the instances in my head. Adorable, not a word to use for him… Fine ass, doesn't like to hear that… And perty eyes? Well, based on his reaction, I should never, ever… Never ever. Use any even vaguely feminine word to describe his eyes again. But seriously? The man needed to get over himself and stop taking my teasing so seriously… I grabbed the blanket and made like I was going to pull it off him. "I told you that if you got squirrely, I wasn't gonna share."

He grabbed the blanket and held it fast, still glaring at me. Fuck… It was almost like I'd hurt his feelings… "I'm sorry, but it's true. You have gorgeous eyes. And come on… You just make it too much fun to tease you." I shrugged and and smirked as I looked at him again. His eyes were no longer angry. Softer now, a bit puzzled, almost like he'd never heard a genuine compliment before. And fuck if they weren't pulling me in again… Which is probably why I didn't stop talking and continued, "and… well… when you look at me like that, I can't seem to look away…" Fuck… Now it was my turn to blush. I buried my face in my knees, but that wasn't sufficient to hide my embarrassment. I looked for a rock to crawl under, but settled for pulling the blanket over my head. For fuck's sake… I just got girlie on him. I got girlie on _myself_! I didn't do this kind of stuff… Goddammit…

And not a sound from Daryl. None whatsoever. I lifted the blanket enough to peek at him and pulled it back down as soon as I saw the smug grin plastered all over that motherfucker's face. The impulse to punch him was overshadowed by my intense desire to find my clothes and hightail it back to my room. I took a few deep breaths as I debated my options and tried to pull my shit together. Goddammit, I was not going to be that timid wreck again… Hell if I'm going back to that. No way. I refuse to wimp out. At least not before I get the answer to _my_ big question. After embarrassing myself like I just had, I deserved to know why he'd stared at me.

I pulled the blanket off of my head and found his eyes again, determined not to look away. Yup, still looking at me, but at least the smug expression was gone. Now he just looked at me like… he had when I was singing. And I'd learned what that look meant during our last go-round. I could feel my breathing become more shallow and my blood start to simmer… Shit, the things that man could do to me with just a look… Well, fuck if I was going to let him wriggle out of answering my question. I steeled my resolve and refused to look away. "No fair, Daryl. Quit looking at me like that… Not if you want answers."

After what seemed like an eternity, but was likely only a few seconds, Daryl suddenly reached behind me to grab the other blanket, then a couple of couch cushions and laid them out on the floor. Before I could say anything, he pulled me onto the floor, muttering, "if we're gonna do this, let's do this. That couch is making my ass itch." He pulled the other blanket over us, studiously avoiding my eyes, tucked his arm under my head and pulled my leg over his, essentially returning us to the same position we'd shared before all the talking... And I also realized that, in this position, we didn't have to look at one another. Whether he was doing it for himself or me, or both of us… I didn't care. I nuzzled the hollow where his shoulder met his neck and started to run my fingers through hair on his chest. This was good… He felt really good… And I was starting to feel brave again.

A/N – It's about time we had an OC who refuses to tiptoe around Daryl's bullshit, don't you think? If I continue with this story, that's likely to be a major theme… Leading to all kinds of highjinks and lemony goodness. And please… Review? I'm getting a lot of hits on this, but no feedback. So while I hate to beg, this is my first story and I'm really curious to hear what y'all think.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N – No smut here. Just Daryl's POV again, brimming with sweetness and angst. Enjoy.

Disclaimer – I own nothing but Stella, my potty mouth and my filthy imagination. All credit for Daryl and the brilliant series goes to AMC and Robert Kirkman. Anyway, I'm certainly not making any money off this, so nothing here for any legal ferrets to worry about.

**Chapter Seven**

It felt good to have her lying next to me like that again. And that shocked the hell out of me, because I don't generally like people touching me. I don't see the point, really, what with all the shoulder pats, kissing on the cheek and hugs I see people giving each other all the time. Whenever someone tries something like that on me, it just feels off… Wrong somehow. And I flinch and then they get upset… I'm not stupid, I'm sure it has a lot to do with my Pa and the way he used to beat the shit out of me. But I'm okay, I got through it. Hell, if the only things I have left to show for it are a few scars and not liking it when people touch me, well that's alright. But the way Stella felt was different… Warm. Soft. Peaceful... Probably all the fucking we just did... The way we'd been going at it, you can't get more touchy than that, so it probably softened me up or something like that... Making me kiss her head and shit… Still don't know what the fuck was up with that…

Hell, I've never really cuddled with anyone before. Maybe my mom when she was alive, but I can't really remember back that far. And certainly never with the bar skanks I'd been with. Merle was right, getting all cuddly with a girl after a fuck just gives them ideas and makes them start expecting shit from you. The one time I fell asleep at that girl Jenna's house, she'd been all clingy and shit the next morning, making me breakfast and telling me to call her… And then the bitch keyed my truck and rang up a $250 bar tab under my name… But whatever Stella and I had done hadn't been sex, at least not the kind of sex I'd ever had before… So I guess the rules I used to follow don't apply here? Whatever. It felt good…

But Jesus, what the fuck did we do? It's like we'd been to another planet together, what with the way we'd kept looking at each other… Like when she sang, kind of, but different, too… When she was singing, back then and tonight, I'd looked at her because I… Well, I guess I'd just been trying to take as much of her in as I could, not sure when I'd get another chance. But when we were fucking, it was almost like I'd been trying to crawl into her head through those eyes of hers, like I could get in there and… I don't know, really. I just know that when she looked back at me, it felt like I'd been in there. And I suppose she'd been in my head too… What the fuck does that even mean? Whatever, doesn't mean anything. If she's looking at me with those pretty eyes of her while I'm fucking her… Why shouldn't I look back at her?

It's weird… I usually try not to look at people too much, makes me feel like I'm about to step in a snare and get yanked up a tree… But if I'm being honest, she's got this weird fucking power over me where I can't _not_ look at her when she's looking at me. And, apparently, I've got the same power over her… It _was_ nice to know that she felt the same kind of… hoodoo pull. And I'm not gonna lie, seeing her face get all red and hide under the blanket when she admitted it? Well, it almost made up for little cracks she'd been making all night… Perty eyes? Fuck that shit. She had pretty eyes, not me. Anyway, I liked knowing I had some kind of power over her… Knowing that I could knock her off her feet with one look… It helped me feel like less of a pussy, less nervous.

I felt her shift her a bit, then heard her say, "I guess it's my turn now. Why'd you look at me?"

Here we go… But she'd answered my question, so I guess it was only fair. I tried to think of an answer that was honest, but also short and sweet, that wouldn't get me trapped into a bunch more questions. "Well… You're really pretty…" like I was stating the obvious. Hell, I wasn't telling her anything she didn't already know, which should have told me that she was gonna keep asking…

I felt her smile against my skin and kiss my chest. "I'm glad you think so, but…" I felt her pull away and look at me. "Is that it…?"

I glanced at her and she looked… kind of confused, but more… digging like. She knew there was more to it… "Fine…." I took a deep breath and forced myself to look away before she pulled me in again, trying to find some words that wouldn't make me look like a little bitch... "I guess it was also the way you looked so scared, but the way you sang that song… You just poured it out there…" I started to regret looking away… Maybe it was because I _wasn't_ looking at her, maybe that's why the words started pouring out of my mouth, making me sound like a dumbass. "And I don't know how anyone can sing a song like that… Sing it the way you sang it, but still be so scared. And you did it every night. Just got up there and sang your heart out. Kind of… floored me… Guess that's the other reason I kept looking at you." I could tell she was still looking at me, so I glanced at her to see her reaction.

She held my eyes for a bit before laying her head back down on my shoulder. I felt her nod, then, "yeah… Not sure how I did it either. You helped…"

I didn't bother trying to hold in my snort. "Yeah, right…"

She pulled herself up until she was half lying across my chest, arms braced on either side so that she could look down at me, a slightly pissed look on her face. I guess she didn't like me calling her on her bullshit. "You did." Her eyes were serious. "That's the only way I know how to sing that song, but there's no way I could have stayed up there and done it if you hadn't been there, looking at me. It was like you held me up..." I believed her… Fuck… "But each night, it got easier and easier, and I didn't need you to hold me up anymore. I just liked feeling your eyes on me…" I could feel myself relax a bit as she settled back into my shoulder and gave a little laugh before adding in a soft voice, "those perty, perty eyes of yours…"

I could still feel her laughing at me. "Fuck, Stella. Stop saying shit like that." Man, she sure got off on teasing me… But I was starting to think she wasn't doing it to be a bitch… She seemed to only do it when she was nervous, so I guess that's why I was starting not to mind too much. Or maybe I was just getting used to it…

"Okay. I'll go easy on you…" she whispered, then gave a soft chuckle as she added, "or not…" She started playing with the hair on my chest again, making it hard to decide whether or not I wanted to take the next turn. Because the feel of her hands on me, her tits pressed against my side, her soft hair against my arm was starting to get me a little worked up again. Part of me wanted to roll her onto her back and have another go… But another part of me wanted to ask another question, one that had been burning me up for the last six years. I really wanted to know the answer, but then again I didn't… Because I knew asking it would make me look like a weak ass punk… And I also knew that neither of the possible answers were gonna make me feel better… But I had to find out. Now that I knew she didn't think I was some creepy stalker, that she hadn't been scared of me back then… But those hands on me… Those tittles pressed against me…

I was about to give in to my first impulse, to fuck her senseless again, when Stella stopped stroking my chest and murmured, "I can tell you have another question, Dixon. You're at bat, so lay it on me."

Now that was fucking creepy… Huh… Fuck it. If I wanted to know, this was the time to find out, I guess. "What would you have done if I'd gone up to you… If I'd… I dunno… Fuck…" Goddammit, Dixon, just fucking say it… "Talked to you or asked you out or something like that?"

She didn't hesitate before answering, "I would have gone out with you. Or something like that."

I turned to look at her, to see if she was telling me the truth. She caught my eyes and nodded, that same serious look on her face. I nodded back, trying to look calm, make sure she couldn't see the beatdown going on in my head. Shit. Stella would've gone out with me? I'd convinced myself that she would have laughed in my face, before sending all those guys in the band over to kick my ass… But instead, it was me being a chickenshit, then six years of wondering. Hell, it was both. Because all I've done since is kick my own ass for being too afraid to talk to her.

She raised an eyebrow and gave me one of those pouty little grins of hers. "I doubt we would have ended up like this… And I would have been too scared to say much… But yeah, if you'd asked me, I would have definitely gone out with you. So why didn't you? Ask me out, I mean?"

I didn't smile back at her because, frankly, I just wasn't feeling it. I was getting too pissed off at myself. "Was going to. That last night. But then that guy picked you up and… Was he your boyfriend?"

"Miles? Ugh… No." She rolled her eyes and laughed softly. "Definitely not my boyfriend. Just an asshole… I saw you walking over, but you were gone by the time I got him to put me down…"

Shit… That last night, I'd finally worked up the courage to go up to her and say, 'you have a pretty voice,' or something else that would have made me sound like a fucking douchebag... So when I saw that guy pick her up, a part of me had wanted to punch him in the face… But another part of me, the part that listened to my fuckup older brother, took it as a sign to walk away because "no way a girl like that'll give you more than a knife to cut off your own balls and a purse to carry them in, little brother…" He'd given me such a raft of shit, going back there night after night, telling me, "look at you… all whipped by some pussy you ain't never gonna taste…" Well, that fucker sure called it wrong, didn't he…

Anyway, it's not like I let his dumbass thoughts on the matter stop me from going back each night. That second night, the bouncer had recognized him when he'd tried to sneak in with me and kicked him out. So I left him standing out there on the sidewalk, looking like he wanted to kill me real slow. And the other nights, I'd just waited until he got good and wasted, too wasted to notice when I cut out to see her. Then I'd come back later to break up whatever fight he was about to start or send him off with whatever skank he was looking to bone. It'd been the trip from hell… Other than seeing Stella sing and all the college titties on Bourbon Street, of course… Just a way for Merle to blow off steam and the wad of money he'd made off some deal I didn't want to know about.

I knew he was full of crap… Fuck if I hadn't figured that out pretty quick when I was eleven… He'd only been out of Juvie for one month, going on and on about how he'd never go back, but the dipshit started dealing again, landing his ass back in there for another year. So why did I always let him get inside my head? Always whispering in my ear, making me feel like I shouldn't bother trying for anything good… You can't get that girl, she's out of your league, no way she'd go out with trash like you… taking those classes at the community college is a waste of good cash, no way anybody'd hire trash like you… tell your boss to go fuck himself, just looking to use you for grunt work, no way he'd give a raise to trash like you…

But he was also the only one who ever bothered to look out for me. And I'd always thought of him as a reality check, someone who'd always tell me the truth, keep me from making an ass of myself. But he'd been wrong about Stella… The proof was laying bare-ass naked and curled up _next to me_. Stella, the girl I hadn't been able to get out of my mind for the last six years… That same girl said my name while she came… That same girl who just rode me, gorgeous and wild, wanting me… The woman I'd been too much of a pussy to even talk to…

Merle had been wrong about Stella and I'd wasted six fucking years of my life wondering about her because I listened to that motherfucker. And I was starting to realize that he'd been wrong about everything else too… That talking me out of shit was easy for him, easier than getting off his lazy ass, easier than putting the brakes on all the dumb shit he did…

Hell if I was gonna let him get in my head anymore. Hell if I was gonna let him fuck any more shit up for me. Son of a bitch was gone, maybe for good… And I had something good right now. Right next to me. Something I'd wanted six years ago, but hadn't had the balls to even talk to… I rolled over on my side and looked at her. And I wanted to say something. Wanted her to know that I was done being a little punk, letting good things pass me by, pretending I didn't care… But I couldn't think of a thing to say… But with her looking at me like that, I suddenly realized I didn't need to say a damned thing. Big green eyes looking like they could tell what I was thinking anyway… All I wanted to say, needed to say was, "I'm here now…"

A little smile on those pretty lips of hers and she whispered, "so am I…" before she kissed me.

A/N – The sweet side of Daryl… We all knew it was in there, didn't we? Now this next chapter – the last one – is kicking my ass. I'm having trouble figuring out how to tie this long-as-shit one-shot into a neat little package that resolves everything. I've backed myself into so many blind alleys on this one, I'm starting to think I need to turn off the car and let it cool down for a bit. So if you have any ideas, please let me know.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N - Hello all. I know I promised eight chapters, but I think I'm gonna end it at seven. Honestly, it ties everything up much more nicely than anything I've come up with for Chapter Eight. Probably because, while I have some hot smut locked and loaded, the rest of it seems to drive the story forward in ways that raise new questions instead of answering old ones.

Y'all should know that I'm also working on a multi-chapter third person piece that introduces another OC, Greta, around the time of Season 2's Cherokee Rose, one that I'm finding to be more inspiring than Stella and DD at the moment. Although part of me really likes Stella and Daryl and wouldn't mind writing another piece that explores her back story some more and would really go OFF on a bunch of themes that have been twisting around in the dark recesses of my brain as I've struggled with Ch. 8...

E.g., D's angsty issues centered around his loyalties to Merle vs. a new vision of himself symbolized by Stella and the fact that she likes him... The fact that she refuses to put up with D's squirrelly bullshit... The teasing dynamic between them... Him getting emotionally smacked in the face when confronted with the fact that she doesn't necessarily know if she wants anything more from him besides sex... Him having to work through his demons on his own (how lasting lessons get learned, imo), as opposed to someone coaxing/pushing him to do it... Which would lead to him having to go off to his proverbial cave and sort out his shit once he decides that he really wants her, which could lead to a fuck ton of entertaining Daryl first person stream of consciousness... I really like the idea of upending the 'some sweet OC gently takes D's hand and guides him through his forest of angst' trope. I'll be honest, I like reading those stories just as much as any other DD fangirl, but if I ever decide to pick these characters up and play with them again, that's the tack I plan to take.

Anyway, if you've taken the time to read my word vomit in the guise of another chapter, thanks. And honestly, any thoughts you have on my ideas for another story that continues Stella and Daryl's love/smut story would be appreciated. Should I continue with them? What do you think of the themes I'd take up if I did continue with them? I'm new to this whole Fan Fiction universe and don't really have anybody to bounce these ideas off of. Alva Starr? I'd love to chat with you, in particular. Your Note to Self: Don't Die story was the first really good piece I read on here. In fact, I first started entertaining the idea of writing my own story while I was balls deep in yours, so to see that you followed my story gave me a girlie shiver...

PLEASE REVIEW... I've decided to just come out and beg for it...


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